


Severed

by Dayzaya



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Blood, Hallucinations, Isolation, Starvation, slight gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8222879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dayzaya/pseuds/Dayzaya
Summary: 「Russet eyes focus back on the debris. It's a piece of roof, tangled with metal if he leans in too close, he thinks he can smell blood. 」  Izaya gets trapped under a fallen roof; alone with nothing but a cellphone and pair of switchblades.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nyanzaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanzaya/gifts), [allshewhispers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allshewhispers/gifts).



> Nyanzaya and I watched a movie, and this is what the fic is based off. It's to help with my writers block, thus each chapter will be varied between on length and yet, if more happens to come as the end nears, I'll add it!

                Izaya's hands come up just as soon as the roof beneath him begins to dip in, a reflexive action as heat rushes over his form when the roof finally snaps. He's grabbing a piece, hisses pain when debris digs into his palm but he's falling anyways. His elbow cracks against the ground, dust billows upwards and Izaya  _cries out_ sharp pain when something heavier than dry wall collapses against his shin and Izaya doesn't know if he can really feel the pain more than the rush of adrenaline and the snap of a bone breaking crushing beneath his flesh.

             Izaya is dazed. Lips parting when his eyes widen and he's reaching shakily for the item pressing so heavily against his leg. He could feel it, the pressure and the pain is still as sharp as ever.

 

       What...

What...

       Words scream in his head, a repeated mantra when his fingers press against the item. It's dusty, cold to the touch and his shoulders quake when pain darts up his spine as he tugs the debris. His breathing catches; head tilts forward and Izaya Orihara doesn't know if he should laugh. Laugh at his misfortune; at the unability to feel the pain anymore when heat hits his chest and he's sure the wetness on his cheeks are because of the pain he had felt. Not a fear.

     The fear he's alone.

Alone by a train track; alone with nothing but his cellphone and switchblade.

      With no water, no food. Nothing.

"I'm okay." He says aloud. Turns his head and swallows, Izaya wasn't going to cry. No, there was no reason too. His phone had to be around; had to be there. He was just talking to Kida, there was no possible way for it to be no where but close. 

        And his blades. He has them. Fit snugly into his pockets and when Izaya searches for them, he could feel the handle of two. Relief fits easily between the paranoia and adrenaline coursing through his veins.

 

         Izaya looks back at his shin. At the angle of his left leg. He pulls it back, hisses discomfort when the ankle feels more bruised than anything. He could work with that. His back and hips were pressing between discomfort and it's more of a throb than sharp pain. He could handle that.

       Russet eyes focus back on the debris. It's a piece of roof, tangled with metal if he leans in too close, he thinks he can smell blood. 

 

      He thinks, even more when he starts to laugh. More strangled than anything-- that maybe he's finally going to become one of his own human experiments.


	2. Chapter 2

   Izaya stops laughing a few moments he's begun. Suddenly hyper aware the constant laughter would dry his throat if he kept at it, would make him  _thirsty_. He licks his lips, and drops his gaze back to the rubble pressing his shin down. His knee is still fine, but it's the lower portion to his leg that causes distress trickling up his spine. If he could just  _move_ the chunk of roof, maybe he could get out of there easily than he could with just  _calling_ someone.

                   Calling-- he still needs his phone. Izaya hisses when he shifts, long given up attempting to _move_ the damned thing, it hurt too much to bother; far too heavy to even  _attempt_.

       Shifting however, causes even more slight annoyance--having been held upwards by his hands, leading them to throb in slight discomfort. He presses his left wrist into his right palm and helps move the joint in a circle, repeating the action for his other hand. His gaze however, is sharp and scanning the ground for his phone.

    He spots it, not too far but it's not exactly within arms reach; pressed closer to more rubble than anything that could make it move in closer. He would have to lean upwards, stretch his fingers to even shift it near.

      Izaya breathes in deeply, his back pressing gently against the dirtied ground. Another breath, and Izaya turns, one hand against the leg trapped while he's turning. The angle of his body feels weird, like his ribs are pressing against his lungs more than usual. He straightens out as much as possible, gasping sharply as he's stretching out.

               The sounds he makes are desperation, a soft chant of  _you can grab it_ over and over again, and his fingers touch smooth metal, the light flickers on as if sensing his touch. It's a message, makes him more desperate for the phone than anything and his middle finger presses against the screen. Holds it down when his pointer and ring slide to fit against the sides of the iphone and he's trying to pull it back. Once, twice--

      He's got it. Shifted closer but then there's another shift, a gasp of pain when the small piece of roof his phone had been holding up knocks against his middle finger. Presses it hard against the broken screen and Izaya jerks, holds his hand up so he can tug free any tiny pieces of shard and his gaze flickers back to his phone. 

                                _Annoying_.

Izaya waits a moment, processes. And when he's pulling his switchblade out, it's flicked open. He's moving back to try to reach for his phone, using the extended force to push at it's side. Cause an arc when it's scraping against the ground and it's easier to grab his phone now. Izaya exhales softly, grinning lightly to himself at the success and then he's sitting up again, more comfortable than the stretch as his grin turns into a frown.

 

                    His screen was cracked, worse than what he expected. He's gently however, opening up the call and dialing Namie's number.

                                               _Nothing_.

Shinra?

                                               _Nothing._

Celty?

                                               _Nothing._

 Izaya drops his shoulders in frustration. Maybe the latter two were  _still_ annoyed at his latest antic. 

               Nonetheless, he sends Celty a message before Shinra.

       [There's something I would like you to do.]

And now, he thinks, turning the screen off to converse the battery.

_Is to wait._


	3. Chapter 3

   He thinks about what he should do. 

                                   There's plenty of options, plenty of ideas that swirl in his mind but his phone isn't lighting up with any alerts; all his messages being ignored. Izaya prides himself in not being able to reach out help for anyone else. He gets bored sitting in the hospital, and he's not exactly on friendly terms with police. So he sticks to the idea of Celty or Shinra responding. Calling him back and him being able to say  _come get me_ with tension relieving from his chest.

                                                It's been four hours.

And the sky is lighting colors of blood and honey, darkening as time clicked by and there's a chill. He's grateful for his jacket, for the bit of warmth it carries when he zips it up over his chest and exhales. His stomach is grumbling hunger, as if scolding him for not making sure he brought a lunch. But Izaya didn't know his trip would lead him falling through a roof. Izaya tugs his hood over his head, let's his eyes slid down.

   He wakes up with a cramp. It's on his knee, and when he presses fingers against the tender spot, Izaya inhales deeply. His stomach aches in the way it does when he skips a meal, would ache more if he had a coffee that settles gingerly over him and makes him rush to the bathroom. But he can't have coffee today; infact it all feels odd. It's stuffy, and Izaya is normally used to a coolness when he wakes up. He can't have it now, all too aware of the fact he's not at home. 

                  He palm itches. Izaya huffs all too loudly when he turns it over and notices a bite; swelling and his fingers brush over the bite, a light pink and it's feeling odd. Like he needs to scratch. Izaya knows better not to, knows it would only make it worse but he still presses his palm against his jeans and drags it down. It feels nicer that way, better than a tickle if he used his nails.

                                          _He has nothing to do period_.

  Izaya can't watch humans. Can't enjoy the satisfaction of his morning coffee and breakfast. He wants a toast with jam, a grapefruit to go with his caffeine. His stomach grumbles at the mere thought, a hand pressing against the rumble and pounding in his belly.

      _Has anyone noticed I've been gone_?

Yet, even thinking this. He knows the answer; knows that when he picks up his too hot phone to the touch; and there's a light blinking at the corner. When Izaya unlocks his phone, he notes the bar leaning towards the middle. See's a message from Celty and his heart stops. He's breaking into a smile, it doesn't waver even when he sees the message. 

   [I'm busy Izaya]

 

    _Busy.._

_Ah. I see._

He puts his phone down gently. Fingers scrape at his palm. 

                      _Has anyone noticed...?_

_No._

_You're alone here Orihara._

_Now._

_What will you do?_


	4. Chapter 4

                Izaya isn't sure he can feel his toes.

                                   The ache below his knee had fallen into something akin to complete numbness. He's tried to wiggle his toes, but he can't tell if he is. He's already thinking of symptoms for loss of blood circulation. He's very sure that beside that, he's going to have an ugly scar or infection. Izaya doesn't want to think of having his own leg cut off, but he's sure it's going to happen, could already imagine the thoughts and the doctors uttering those words with solemn expressions and the nurses looking pitiful.

                        _"I'm sorry Orihara-san, we tried all we could, but we couldn't save it."_

"What a shame..."

                      _"With practice, you would be able to walk again."_

 "With one leg?" Izaya drawls out, tracing a finger across the floor. It scratches at his pointer, jolts a tingling sensation across the flesh and he continues just for the feel. He's already cold, sniffling constantly due to the chill. Occasionally, he's reaching up to wipe his nose and clear his throat from the dryness that won't go away.

                      _"Well, you can always have a_ _prosthetic_."

"Would that make me human?" Izaya asks himself, plays with the idea of being a cyborg. His thoughts fixated on the idea of being only pure human, but if having a man made leg make him less of a human? Less of a human? He knows the thoughts are only a distraction from the fear of his leg. Izaya shifts, lays himself back and stares idly towards the wall. He was tired. Far too tired. His phone had gone off a few times; Izaya knows it could be Namie. Even Shiki. But would he ask them?

   _Would he try?_

_Izaya, you're going to suffer._

_Do you want to suffer?_

His fingers reach out for his phone, gentle to not get cut by the tiny shards of glass. 

   _Ah..._

Not Shiki, but there were some from Celty again, one from Namie and Izaya hums. There's the occasional message from a client, and Izaya shuts his phone off. No one would truly believe him-- Namie could. He thinks back to the stab, to the sharp pain; the blood spilling from his own flesh. He presses a hand to the scar. He looks back at his legs.

                   "Ah...maybe I am a masochist." He murmurs; and he's holding his phone out. Has it open; and goes to assure he could recor a video. He holds it up, as best as he can. The lightening wasn't good; he looks dirty and like he hasn't slept. Izaya frowns, before letting his lips twist into a grin as he presses play.

               _"Hello~! It's me Orihara Izaya~! I've...hn, that's not right. Well, I didn't think anyone would believe me if I just sent a text, maybe still..."_ His eyes go dull, flicker with dread and his grin falls, " _ah well_...Look!" He's twisting the camera around, shows his body as best as he could and then to his leg. "My leg, a shame. I don't know what to do, it's so hard to take off...Should I just cut it off?" He cackles, voice pitching towards hysteria. "Maybe if you see this, you guys will be able to ask me where I am and come for me, ne?" He cuts the video off short. When he watches it over, Izaya isn't sure he likes it.  _No he's very sure he doesn't like it_.

                But what other way was there to express such a thing? Izaya growls frustration; and he goes towards a message- the latest from Celty. Surely easier to send to her. After a few troubles with sending the video-  _damned size limit, he did end up redoing it_ \-- the informant pressed sent and hummed contently as he leaned back. 

   "Ah--" A hand slapped at his neck-- and he scratched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no excuse lmao


End file.
